THE POWER OF HUMILIATION! It was never my intention to turn my husband into a woman. I never even wanted him to wear a skirt! All I wanted was for him to obey me. I suppose the whole thing started even before I met Alan. I was the oldest child and I had to look after two younger brothers. Like any girl I was acutely aware of the balance of power between the sexes. When dad came home everything changed, as soon as he was out of the house it all changed back. The two boys were never expected to do ëgirlsí work - I did the washing up! And yet I also understood that their position of power was their built-in weakness. Force a boy to wash-up and he is merely resentful about the extra work - tell his friends and he is mortified! I blackmailed my little brothers to maintain control over them and I soon discovered that female clothing held particular terrors for them. Of course Iíd always know they hated being seen as a sissy. If I caught one of them reading my comic they would blush and yet I openly read theirs! But once I started to wear properly female underwear; slips and pretty panties and bras, their interest in, and fear of, these strange new clothes became apparent. They had just opened the first shops with automatic washing machines. I would take a pile of clothing in a big bag and weíd do a week's washing in one go. The two boys would eagerly fill the huge tubs with the soiled clothes under my supervision. Until they came across my frilly undies. The expression on their faces when they had to touch knickers or bras was a revelation. A kind of terrified delight! Making a mental note I said nothing at the time. Later however I would crush them by forcing them to collect, or iron, or fold these same scary garments. In front of their schoolboy friends I would whisper, ëDo they know you iron my panties?í and theyíd rapidly submit to my wishes! When I married Alan I was enraged at the way he casually assumed Iíd be the one who washed and cleaned etc. We both went out to work and seeing him sitting there, waiting for me to cook and clean for him, made me extremely angry. Arguing and fighting was pointless - I fell back on my childhood knowledge. But if I were to blackmail my husband, if I was to successfully scare him into doing his share of the work, Iíd need plenty of ammunition. As newly-weds we spent a lot of time in bed, so naturally this is where I began to collect the arsenal I needed. Under the guise of sexual ëexperimentationí I wore various ëoutfitsí and got him to assume different ëpositionsí. Soon I had Alan lying on his back tied to the bed, with me on top. I encouraged him to explain what kind of clothing excited him - and began wearing black stockings and suspenders, lacy bras and transparent gowns as a result. Then I started asking him to wear special outfits for me. Reluctantly he started to wear silk pyjamas and satin night-shirts - just for me! By the end of our first year of marriage Alan was quite accustomed to a sex-life that involved - at one time or another - him tied to our bed wearing a pair of pink satin night-shirt, with me on top! For our first anniversary I bought Alan a night-dresss! Yes, he was shocked. In fact initially he simply refused to accept it let alone wear it. Iíd deliberately chosen a pretty nightie, not something that could be seen as a ënight-shirtí. It was made of pink nylon with puffed sleeves and a lace-trimmed thigh length skirt. I burst into tears. ëI wear everything you want me to wear in bed.í I sobbed, ëbut when I ask just this one thing you say no.í Obviously he didnít agree - and we didnít talk again the rest of the day. I refused to speak the following day and by the end of the week he was desperate. He came home with a bunch of flowers and a bottle of wine. We kissed and got drunk. And we went to bed. As he undressed I took the night-dress out of its box. Alan went pale. ëItís alright!í I said, ëI know you donít want it.í He stared at the lovely pink gown with a kind of sick horror in his eyes. I placed it next to his night-shirt. ëJust tell me,í I said softly, ëwhy you canít wear it. Is it the colour? What?í And I started to cry. He was totally lost for words. In truth he hadnít really wanted to wear the night-shirt! When he didnít say anything I threw the nightie, his night-shirt and the ropes at him. ëYouíve been lying to me all this time!í I screamed, ëYouíve only pretended to like our sex games! I hate you!í I left the house and booked into a nearby motel. The next evening Alan was waiting for me outside my office. We sat in my car and talked. He was quite calm and reasonable, ëYou want me to wear a frilly pink night-dress in bed. And when I say no - you accuse me of being unreasonable.í I wasnít calm, ëI wanted him to know how angry, and possibly vindictive, I could be. ëWell then, when I sue for divorce you can explain to the judge exactly why your idea of good sex is to be tied to a bed in pink satin night after night!í He went as white as a ghost! I saw all the horrible possibilities run through his mind. The local paper running a sex-scandal story about kinky sex, his friends at work sniggering about bondage and fetish sex! ëWhat do you mean - divorce?í He muttered weakly. ëI am not living with you.í I said harshly, ëA man who canít even tell the truth about the kind of sex he likes. Have you any idea how stupid I felt when you refused my present? How was I to know youíd hate it - youíve been wearing the same kind of thing for a year!í He was speechless. There was just enough truth in what I was saying to justify my anger - and yet he felt he was being perfectly reasonable. But I saw real fear in his eyes now; he knew that he couldnít afford to have any outsider listen to any of this. The bondage, the pink silk and satin, the kinky lovemaking was all too real, and far too humiliating to share with others. He had to be extremely careful now. I enjoyed the next few minutes and my husbandís own feverish imagination began its work. Control was slipping away from him even as we sat there. Power was draining from my husband and filling me with a crude excitement I hadnít expected. Suddenly and shockingly I wanted to make love to him. I wanted to use, to demonstrate my newfound power! 'Go home,' I said trying to hide the lust in my voice, 'Call me when you are wearing the nightie.' I left him pale-faced and fearful. Alone in my motel room I lost a bit of my confidence. It suddenly seemed too much to ask. Alan was like every other man in the world, he'd rather die than be seen in something female, something frilly! I made up my mind, if he didn't call I'd get a lawyer to write to him about divorce, and I'd make sure the 'kinky-sex' was cited as the reason. That would soon make him see reason! I jumped when the phone rang. My mouth went dry and my heart leapt into my throat. I answered and heard his breathing. I knew it was him even though he hadn't said a word. 'Alan?' I queried. I knew instinctively he was already wearing the nightdress, I could have simply put the phone down and raced to the house. But I'd experienced an exquisite power when talking to him earlier; I'd seen his fear and dread. Now I wanted to hear him grovel. 'Speak to me Alan, or put the phone down.' I heard the sharp intake of breath; I could practically feel his desperate fear. 'I'm, I'm doing what you asked.' He stammered. It was enough, but I wanted more. 'Say it. Tell me what you are wearing.' The silence seemed to last forever. And I thought I might have pushed him too far. Until he whispered, 'The nightie.' How can I describe my feelings at the sound of those words? He sounded so weak, so girlish. And beaten! My heart hammered against my rib cage, my blood simply fizzed with naked excitement. I was sorely tempted to humiliate him further but I managed to contain myself. After tonight I'd be able to do anything I wanted. I had to take things one step at a time. I returned home feeling a new woman. My mind feverishly exploring the possibilities. Alan was in bed. Cowering like a beaten puppy under the bedclothes. He held them tightly under his chin like a frightened virgin. Standing next to our bed, staring down at my wide-eyed husband I tasted the power. Every single nerve ending in my body hummed with excitement. My breasts felt sore and heavy, their nipples hard against the cups of my bra. My breath came in short agonising gasps. My thighs trembled and my stomach muscles fluttered uncontrollably. I leaned downwards and took hold of the bedsheet that covered Alan's shame. For a second he resisted. But I tugged hard and the sheet slithered down. My mouth opened, gaped. I swallowed hardly able to breathe. Alan was wearing the pretty pink nightdress. It clung to his slim frame emphasising every outline of his body. The shaped bodice created the illusion of breasts and the cute puffed sleeves gave him an almost babyish appearance! I was expecting the nightie - but not how it would alter his appearance. I was expecting him to be shy and scared - but I had no anticipated how cowed and pathetic he would be. He lay shivering and shaking as though he was about to be raped! And then it struck me. I did want to rape him. To violate him. And perhaps that was what he had sensed all along. I didn't want to feminise him - I just wanted him to submit. Totally! I undressed in silence. Joining him on the bed I embraced him. And I made love to him. Gently. When I awoke next morning he had gone. The pink nylon nightie lay on the floor. I called him at his office. He sounded wary. 'Meet me at Monique's on the High Street.' I told him. 'I'm going to buy you a bra and a pair of knickers.' There was a long stunned silence. And I felt like a naughty schoolgirl. 'No!' He replied eventually. 'Meet me at exactly 2pm. If you are not there I will go directly to my lawyer. I'll show him your nightdress, and the bondage gear and I'll ask him to file for divorce citing sexual perversion as the cause. On my way home I'll cal in at the local paper.' And I hung-up the phone before he could reply. He called back immediately. But I didn't answer. I was getting ready - to go shopping. For a bra, for my husband! Of course he was there at ten minutes to two! 'Are you out of your mind?' He hissed. People pushed past us as I answered 'You wear a nightie, why can't you wear a bra?' He went white. I thought he'd faint. Staring about him with wild eyes he gasped, 'Keep your voice down!' I shrugged, opening the door of the ladieswear shop I said calmly, 'Look. If you aren't coming inside I'll go to my lawyer. It's your choice.' And I entered the shop. It is a small shop that sells corsetry, lingerie and babywear. An elderly matron who has owned it for years runs it. She walked towards me just as Alan sheepishly entered behind me. 'Don't tell her it's for me.' He implored. I could have hugged myself. So he'd accepted the idea of the bra. All he cared about at this moment was the sheer terror of exposure. I forced my shivering husband to examine a dozen pretty bras, all in his size. He wilted under the curious gaze of the other woman, and was in no mood to resist me when I told him to pay for all of them. I spent a few minutes looking at matching knickers and enjoying my husband's naked fear of them. I was so excited by the time we left the shop I wanted him badly. Ignoring his protest I rushed him home. 'Get undressed!' I hissed. 'I want you in a bra and knickers. NOW!' I saw him hesitate just for a second. And then, in a terrified whisper he said, 'Please. Draw the curtains!' I laughed softly and shook my head. 'Just do it.' Alan went quite pale as he undressed. His hands shook so much I had to help him into the pretty blue bra. A satin creation with padded cups and adjustable shoulder straps. I filled the cups with a pair of my nylons and watched as he awkwardly tugged the matching blue satin knickers up his legs. They were undeniably sexy with a lot of black lace at the leg. We stared at each other for an age.